Absolution in a Moment
by Perfume
Summary: An exploration of a rescue from a foreign country, a contemplation of feelings for both parties, and that's not to mention how Sherlock is going to fool his brother into thinking she was actually beheaded.
1. Chapter 1

This was the first time she thought she was going to die. Of course, she had close encounters, which she easily found her way out of thanks to an official or a partner. All it took was a phone call, and the mere mention of blackmail or a favor owed. Since she had been robbed of any sort of contact or bargaining tool, she was alone. Her fall from grace had happened so quickly, leaving her not as the predator but the prey.

It was a foolish move to rely so heavily on technology. It was even more foolish to use the name of a man that held her interest as of late as her password: Sherlock Holmes, the _consulting detective_. She thought she was being clever. Using his name was something she was sure he would have never suspected or ever suggested as an option. She was so pleased with her creativity when she was watching his attempts at the code.

She underestimated him. He was always thinking, never did he stop. She knew she had something on him, something that she was finding a difficulty placing when it came to his feelings about her. So that night, while they were alone in the flat, she decided to make a move on it. She wanted to know exactly how he felt… All she had to do was work her charm, slither up to him, and talk. It worked on everyone else.

As she slithered up to him, grasped his arm, and looked into his eyes, it all changed. Something that she never thought would happen to her in all her many conquests and victories in sex. For the first time she had a deep admiration for someone, and not on a sexual level. It was confusing, and it was also heartbreaking. She had to trick him in the end. She had to follow through and walk away as _the woman who beat him_. And so, she hoped that he would have taken it as her normal demur: asking him to dinner, offering to fuck him, it was nothing out of character for her.

If she would have spoken to him from a distance, she could have walked away with everything. Yet, the simple touch denied her everything… her heart denied her everything.

After the government had finished stripping her phone of all the information that would have proven useful to them (and others), they returned her phone and let her go. They must have had some idea that someone out there wanted her dead. Two weeks later, one of her contacts must have discovered the information had fallen into government hands, so it did not take long to find her and to sentence her to death. Pity it was one who had a knack for beheading instead of shooting.

There were four men in the jeep with her, possibly two in the other behind. They all were speaking in their native Urdu language as far as she could surmise, casting glances at her from time to time. Her executioner was silent, however, and when she looked at him, he fingered the blade at his side. She was not going to let him see her at her worst. She was Irene Adler, and all though her death would have meant being beaten, she was not going to change at the moment of her demise.

When they had taken her out of the jeep and pressed her to the ground with forceful hands on her shoulder, they formed a wide and broken circle around her. There was a musty scent in the air-one of dirt and stagnant water and a faint hint of a metallic. In front of her a man stood with a camera in his hands. This sparked a memory off in her mind of something.

"I would like to make one last request," she stated.

"What, Irene Adler?" He asked in English with a heavy accent.

"My phone, please…" So they did understand English. She also knew that her phone was with one of them, as they had confiscated it when they had captured her. The man to her right shuffled closer and held her phone out. With surprisingly calm hands, she grasped it.

Indeed it was. She opened her contact list and clicked on the only number that she knew by heart. The only number she could recall to put back into her empty phone.

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

_Goodbye Mr. Holmes_

She had finished typing and pressed that tiny green button marked SEND. They took the phone away from her, and she could feel the ground at her left vibrate. Her death was mere moments away. So, she closed her eyes and waited to die.

Then she heard it. The moan, her moan! It was muffled but she heard it! In fact, it was right next to her. She snapped her eyes open and looked up to the left. Her executioner… and now, she recognized the green eyes all too well.

"When I say run, _run_!" He whispered, gripping the blade tightly.

She smiled and looked ahead at the camera that was still filming. She felt the air stir behind her and the whistle of a blade slicing through the air. There was a sound of a gun misfiring and the abbreviated _bang_ of another. Yet another one fell next to her and with deft movements she picked it up. The man in front of her had dropped the camera and started to lift up the gun slung around his shoulder, but she took aim and shot him as his hand was reaching for it.

With gun in her hand, she quickly stood and turned around, preparing to take aim. Sherlock was just finishing off the last man, bringing the blunt handle of the blade into his jaw, knocking him to the ground (and probably twisting his neck in the process) with a swift jab.

"Run!" He called to her, as he advanced on the last two men who had moved from out of the jeep.

"Sorry, not that kind of a woman," she called out to him.

"Women," he scoffed, as he sliced the man coming out from the driver's side. Irene took aim and shot the man exiting the passenger's side. Now, they stood alone in the empty warehouse. He twirled the sword in his hand with an unsurprising amount of finesse and turned to her.

"My hero," she replied, lowering the assault rifle she previously pilfered. She looked over at the man who had held the camera. He was still alive, but a slight rattle and a gurgle indicated he was swiftly approaching death. She advanced towards him, looking down at him. "I do hope you got me from my good side," she mused, picking up the camera and turning it off. Popping open the side, she extracted the one possible piece of evidence against her being alive. She turned towards Sherlock who was already picking over the bodies and checking for any communication devices.

"I don't know whether to kiss you or to shag you," she said with a grin. "I'd settle for both."

He pretended not to hear her while he finished checking the last body. The mobile he discovered was slid open with his thumb and sorted through in search of a particular number. Finding the number he was looking for, he gingerly held the phone to his ear. Someone must have answered on the other line. Sherlock paused for a moment, spoke a reply and waited for yet another moment. He hung up without speaking again.

"The job is complete, you're dead Irene Adler," he said with a tone of finality.

"Wouldn't be the first time, you know," she said, making her way over to him. She was directly in front of him, staring up at him with a satisfied expression. She extended the tape towards him, a slight tremor betraying her calm. "Now, tell me, my knight in shining armor, what shall your reward be?"

Sherlock stared at her for a moment and then raised a hand to grasp her wrist. Without a word, he plucked the tape out of her.

He finally deigned to reply while pivoting on his heel and striding towards one of the jeeps. "No reward is necessary, Ms. Adler. Your life is sufficient enough." She followed him and climbed into the passenger side while he got into the driver's side.

"I would have thought you couldn't care less if I lived or died," she asked him in all honestly. She watched his face, looking for any sign of emotion that would give her the answer she was seeking (even if his words would not match). He started the engine of the jeep with a twist of the key and then drove out from the warehouse.

"And you are correct, Ms. Adler. _If_ I did not know you, and your capabilities, I couldn't have cared less if you lived or died." He sped up and drove off the abandoned base, speeding off into the night air. The desert was still around them except for the sand stirring up under the tires. "But I _do_ know you, and I know that it is partially my fault you have ended up in this mess."

"So, you are admitting that the ordeal," and here she said the word ordeal with a slight haughtiness, "with my phone was uncalled for, and so was stripping it of all my contacts. Didn't get to thank that brother of yours, he could have at least left me with some numbers. Which brings me to wonder, does your brother even know that you're here?"

She shifted in her seat to better face him and quirked an eyebrow.

"First of all, Ms. Adler, let us recall that your phone had documents that were important to that of the British government. Second, I assumed my brother's purpose for doing that was, indeed, to get you killed. And finally, he does not know I'm here."

"The documents were freely given to me, I didn't _bribe_ them from anyone," she replied. "I explained this to you before, if you recall." She leaned back in the seat, looking at her face in the rearview mirror. She was pale, parched, and in need of a good facial—or a decent bath, at least. "I do hope that you were kind enough to bring a change of clothes."

"No," he said with a cheeky smile, "I have no reason to carry around women's clothing. I'm sure you can deal with wearing the clothes on your back until we are finished."

"You intend to stay?" It was her turn to smile a cheeky smile. "Now I'm starting to think what you said to me that night was actually another play in the game. Admit it, Mr. Holmes, it's not just your compassion to see things right that brought you here…"

"As I told you, Ms. Adler, I'm doing this because all though I did what I set out to do, I could not have a life as interesting as yours be collateral damage. Though you may have ties with an array of _interesting_ clients, and at one time possessed information dangerous to selective parties, you are quite innocent. You are not the villain; I did not mean to paint you as one."

"But, I did align myself with one," she voiced.

"Not by choice," he said simply. "That was quite obvious. Any _consulting criminal_ would come across someone who had something on Irene Adler."

He was correct. The only reason she aligned herself with Moriarty was he had, indeed, found information that could not only expose her, but other parties. He knew of her clientele and that she may come across someone with information useful to him (and the people he _consulted_). It was by chance that the email fell into her possession. She offered it and he accepted. He then told her that the only way she could encrypt it was if Sherlock Holmes did it. His reason: he wanted to tease Sherlock Holmes. He wanted to see Sherlock Holmes, for once, come undone by a woman.

He almost did…

"It doesn't matter anymore," she said after some minutes of sitting in silence, flexing her fingers on the armrest of the seat. She took notice of her nails and considered that she also needed a good manicure as well. "Irene Adler is believed to be actually dead, once and for all. She can never come back."

* * *

><p><strong>A Note From the Author:<strong> I do hope that this short story will appeal to some of my readers who are looking for that moment that was lost in time between Sherlock and Irene (The Woman). I do also wish to credit my wonderful editor-and friend-who turned my simple story into one that I believe would suffice in the continuity of the series. RavenRising88, you are amazing, thank you.

So please, do stick with this story. I promise we will be very thorough...


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: I apologize for the wait on this chapter. The story has been in writing development hell. I know exactly what I want to do with it, but it takes time and patience to get there. Oh well, hope you enjoy this chapter - four chapters in all for this story! Half-way done!

* * *

><p>Irene had fallen asleep during the drive. Perhaps it was because she hardly had any sleep the past two nights. After being thoroughly mistreated by lack of sleep and food, the smooth drive of the car over the road lulled her to sleep. When she finally awoke, she noticed that the car had stopped and Sherlock was staring at her from outside the car.<p>

"How long was I asleep for?" She asked with a twinge of fatigue in her voice.

"An hour and eighteen minutes," he said without looking at the clock on the dashboard. "The drive from the base to Karachi was actually an hour and fifteen minutes, but it took two minutes to park the car and fifty seconds to survey the area, and ten seconds for you to wake." He left the window of the car. She exited the car and followed after him, now standing beside him.

The area was a parking lot, not owned by a business. She surmised that it had to be an apartment complex. It was unkempt, weeds growing out from the faded pavement. There were three other cars parked in the lot as well.

"The hotel," he began, "is quite some distance from here. The jeep will stay here, and if we need it we will return for it. I am quite certain that we will but it will be best if it's kept here to not arouse too much suspicion."

She nodded, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. Her thread-bare clothing was warm, but it could not keep out the breeze that came by once in a while and blew it away from her frame. They then began to walk out of the parking lot and into the street, which was empty for being only 2:00 in the morning. For a walking partner, he was quite silent. He hardly spoke from behind the sari, and his eyes were distant in thought. Once again he was thinking.

"I love watching you think," she said, wondering if he would hear her.

After a few seconds, he turned to her. "Did you say something?"

"I was just remarking on you thinking" she said, as they turned a corner and continued on. "I'm certain John learns quite a great deal from you."

"If he has learned anything he does not show it much," he replied. "There are…glimpses of interest in what I am thinking."

"John is very much interested," she said with a knowing smile. "Who would write a blog detailing his _adventures_ with the _consulting detective_?"

His eyebrows raised in surprise. "He's my blogger, it's his job."

"Of course it is," she said, "I don't see him writing on _your_ blog these things."

"My blog is meant for the _science of deduction_," he said slowly with irritation, "not for _adventures of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson_."

"Is it really his job? I suspect that he treats it as a hobby, or an interest… Which brings me to wonder, is your interest towards him more than just a friend?"

"I'm married to my work," was his short reply.

She smiled. "You must have countless affairs then, both men and women."

"Is your parlor trick figuring out sexual identities of people?" He asked her irritably.

"If my parlor trick was that, then yours would be your life as a _consulting detective_," was her saucy reply. "It could be that the women that he dates think that you two are a couple," she ventured. "It's quite obvious you aren't, but from any outsider on the situation… one could see that there is some sort of budding relationship."

"He needs to choose better women then, women who actually _think_," was his reply as they finally approached the small hotel. They strode through the small lobby and advanced to the desk. There, he collected a key from the front desk attendant, a man who seemed to be more interested in reading the magazine than noticing two people coming in at two in the morning. Sherlock then lead the way towards the stairs to the second floor where he stopped in front of the room.

"Ah, one room," she noted, that prompted a look from him as he unlocked the door and strode inside. She followed, closed the door, and locked it. The room, like the hotel, was small. An open view toilet, a shower, a bed, table and chair and a tiny lamp were the only things the room had the offer.

Sherlock made his way over to the table which had a few of his things already there. She noticed his coat and smiled. She quite enjoyed that coat, warm as it was it was far too warm for this climate. He was discarding items from his pockets on the table. She turned to the small bed that was big enough for at least two people.

"I will be sleeping on the chair," he said, as if reading her thoughts. She turned to see him almost halfway out of his clothes. The bottom half of him remained clothed while his top half remained naked.

She laughed while looking at the chair. "Are you sure you'll be comfortable. I promise to keep my bedroom habits to myself."

"I'm not looking for comfort, which was quite clear when I chose this hotel. I am also not planning to sleep," he said, reaching down into his coat and removing a packet of cigarettes. "Or do anything else of the sort."

"You smoke," she remarked, watching him remove a lighter as well.

"In certain situations, yes," he said, removing a cigarette and lighting it, throwing the packet on the table. He took a seat in the chair, inhaled and blew out a long, satisfied curl of smoke.

"Normally people would smoke when they're stressed," she remarked, starting to remove her clothes, tossing them on the ground. He puffed again on the cigarette and then looked over to her and noticed that she was now naked. "Are you stressed now?" She sauntered over to him, sitting on his lap and looking down at him. His eyes were not looking away from her. She removed the cigarette from his mouth, placed it in hers and took a drag on it, blowing it up to the ceiling. She draped and arm over his shoulder, giving him a satisfied smile.

"Interesting," he said, clearing his throat, "you smoke as well."

"Once in a while," she said, "when I'm _stressed_." She handed the cigarette back to him. "It's a nasty habit," she said, watching him take another drag on it while he turned to look out the window, "I'm surprised that you do it."

"Speaking of nasty habits, you have a few that you're not willing to give up," he stated, "because you _enjoy_ it." This caused her to grab him by his cheekbones, turning him to face her.

"I do it because I not only enjoy it but because I know I can get what I want," she said, "I _always _get what I want." She slowly bent forward, fixated on his lips. Before she could kiss them, he placed the cigarette in his mouth and blew a puff of smoke into her face. She coughed, making her get off his lap and onto the bed.

"Honestly, Sherlock," she replied, still coughing. "It was only a kiss."

"I don't _kiss_," he replied, "I did not come here to be one of your sexual _conquests_. While we are in this room, you are to remain in that bed, and hopefully _with_ your clothes on."

"They're dirty," she replied unhappily, "and it's far too warm in this room. I prefer to be naked."

"I'm not surprised," he remarked under his breath, taking another drag on the cigarette. He reached into his pocket, and withdrew her phone. She watched as he flipped it in the air and caught it. "That last request…"

"What about it?"

"_'Goodbye Mr. Holmes_'", he repeated her text to her.

"I was about to die," she said, "I did what any woman would have done in such a situation." She stretched out her hand, waiting for him to give her phone back.

"'Any woman'', he repeated, taking another drag, blowing out the smoke. "I thought you were The Woman, the leader of your sex."

"To some people I may be. You wouldn't have answered anyway. I think that would have been text number fifty-seven." Her hand still remained outstretched.

"Why did you text me?"

"I'm sure the answer will come to you," she said, slightly dejected while she pulled down the sheets and slid into bed. She looked to him as he sat there in profile, inhaling the cigarette while deep in thought. His fingers drummed in a rhythm that almost resembled the pacing of a song. He kept twiddling with her phone.

"Are you sure you don't want to share the bed," she asked, trying to be kind.

He didn't answer. As she lay down, she angled herself so that she could watch him. It reminded her of the last moment that they were alone together. The moment in which she first realized that she had feelings for him.

Was he trying to sort them out as well, his feelings? Was that why he was smoking? Whatever the reason, he seemed to hide away his problems with the aid of a cigarette or the twang on a violin. She remained in the position where she was looking at him until he finished the cigarette, opened the window, and flicked the butt out. When he turned around he noticed that she was still awake. He looked away from her, as if he had done something against his judgment.

"Can't sleep," she said softly as he was walking out of her range of eyesight. She heard him shuffling around by the table and then the next thing she knew, the bed dipped on the opposite end. Yet, he did not climb under the covers.

"Good night, Sherlock," she said quietly.

She was out before she knew if he had replied.

* * *

><p><strong>Prior to Current Events...<strong>

* * *

><p>He had left the flat early, destination in mind. Hailing down the next cab that approached the street, he spoke the direction of the last place he had expected to visit to the cabbie. Sitting back against the leather interior, he closed his eyes and remarked back on a day not long ago (almost two weeks ago). Mycroft had called upon him, visiting the flat while John and he had just attended to their midday meal.<p>

_ "Well, I guess I should congratulate you," Mycroft said, pouring himself a cup of tea with one hand and arching an eyebrow at his brother. Sherlock was leafing through a book, his interest hardly on his brother. "Not only for giving us over the documents that we were looking for, but also getting me writing a lengthy dossier on you."_

_ "I'm sure it wasn't the first time," he had said simply, closing the book with a snap of his fingers and giving his brother a quick smirk. "I'm sure this dossier must be quite a read. You would have embellished it with childhood memories as footnotes."_

_ Mycroft's smile twitched. _

_ "So, what happened to Miss Adler?" John asked, his hands folded on the desk and looking towards Mycroft. He was hoping to avoid another fight, like the countless times before. "Has she been arrested?"_

_ "On the contrary," Mycroft said, "she has been set free." He took a sip from the cup._

_ "Really?" John said, straightening up in his chair. "That's… surprising."_

_ "Irene Adler spent her life gathering information to protect her, which is now in the hands of the British government. I think it is quite obvious that her connections will no longer be so generous to her. It will be only a matter of time until her line is severed. And I do mean severed." He looked towards Sherlock who had been eying Mycroft as he spoke of these details. _

_ "She will die?" John's voice was rather quiet._

_ "Possibly," Mycroft said, taking another sip from his tea. "Depends on who finds her first." Sherlock went back to shuffling through papers and Mycroft was watching him with apt interest._

_ "I'm sure she will blend in," John said, "She did it before… she faked her death."_

_ "Yes," Mycroft said thoughtfully, "but this time it is much more different when we have the names of the people who she used to do such a feat." Mycroft twisted the cup on the saucer, a detailed sign he was trying to breach something. "Irene Adler could have been the most clever woman, but leave it to my brother to find her weakness: Him."_

While sitting in the cab, Sherlock could think of nothing else but the conversation. He was more than certain that the reason for Mycroft's visit was to 'check up on him'. He was annoyed by his constant glances each time he mentioned her name, the situation and what had transpired that night. The night he last saw her…

He, too, was also now—dare he say it-curious. Could it be that he was developing a feeling (though, one he could not name) for Irene Adler? Was it love, was it admiration, was it devotion, or was it all of them combined? It drove him mad. He always had an answer for anything, but for the first time in his life he did not have an answer for something so insignificant to his work. That was why he was on his way to her office, to hopefully find out more of this feeling… a feeling that had been digging at him for weeks.

Arriving at five story white building, he paid the fare and strode up the steps to the front door. He rang the buzzer once and waited. No answer. He had a feeling that it may be deserted. He then looked over to the window next to the door and smiled. Moments later he was inside the flat, shrouded in darkness.

"Look who it is," a voice said, followed by a gun cocking and a light turning on. He turned to see Kate standing in the doorway, a gun pointed at him and her eyes cold. "I was wondering if you were going to come back at all."

"Believe me," he said, "I have a set notion for not coming back to a previous case once it has been closed." He took in her appearance: tired, mascara smeared, clothes appeared wrinkled and disheveled.

"And what changed your mind, or should we say your _heart_?"

"What is with people mentioning my heart?" He asked to no one in particular. Before she could respond, he waved his hand, dismissing his last words. "Don't respond."

"Then what brings you here, Mr. Holmes?" She asked, placing a hand on her hip.

"Firstly," he said, "its best if one holds a gun with two hands and secondly, your stance and demur makes it very clear that your shot would not only be sloppy, it would possibly miss its mark."

She lowered her gun, eyeing him. "You are good, perhaps too good. She warned me about that."

"Ah, Miss Adler," he said with a smile, linking his arms behind his back and making a few cautious steps towards her, "which brings me to my next question: what has happened to her?"

"How do you know something has happened to her?" Kate asked, surprised.

"From your makeup," he said, gesturing to her face. "Whatever it is, it must have not been that long ago, for you have not bothered to check yourself in a mirror before coming to answer the door. Or, before getting out the gun and aiming it at your intruder: Me."

She looked away and bit her lip. To him, it was an obvious sign of internal conflict. Sherlock sighed. "I will discover what has happened to her, regardless if you tell me or not."

"And why do you care, Mr. Holmes?" Kate asked, her eyes narrowing and glancing back at him. "I'm pretty sure that she would want nothing to do with you. You are the reason why she is gone."

"Yes," he remarked in an obvious tone, "I hurt her vanity and pride, and all that nonsense women get slighted for. Now, once again, where is she?"

Kate's hand reached into her dress skirt pocket and removed her mobile. Scanning through it for a moment she then held it out to him, her eyes locked with his. "Read, then." Sherlock reached out, took the phone and looked down at the message that was looking back at him.

_I have been found._

He stared at the text. Mycroft was right. They found her.

"Have you texted her back?"

"No," she said, "she texted this just before you arrived." She looked to him. "She is going to die. All because of some stupid game she involved herself in."

"It depends who her captors are," he said quietly, thinking this over. "Has she called you?"

"I called her," she replied. "She wouldn't tell me where she was, if that is what you're asking."

"No," he said, "but if you have an internet connection and access to her phone bill, one can track where the call was received." If Irene was clever enough she would have not answered if she wished to remain hidden."

"You clever man," Kate replied. Sherlock tossed her the phone, which she caught in between her well manicured hands. He quirked his eyebrow at her response, moved past her in search of a computer.

"We do not have much time," he said, "I need a computer, now!"

Kate opened a door and revealed a well furnished work space. He had already took in the room and surmised that Irene had her say in the decorative style. He went to the computer, moved the mouse with the flick of his wrist until the screen appeared. He was now face to face with two people with little to no clothes on… and he filtered his attention back to Kate.

"She often said that you would be on the receiving end of that," Kate said tonelessly.

"Go, log into her account and figure out where the texts were sent," he ordered, pointing to the website. He pressed his hands together and leaned against the wall, thinking over everything carefully.

_I have been found_.

_Why a simple text? Why tell that she was found? Why not tell where she was? _

"Karachi", Kate replied, "she's in Karachi." He looked over Kate's shoulder at the location of the texts and when the last one was sent. She looked at his face, studying it carefully. "I don't think the text was for me."

* * *

><p>When Irene opened her eyes, she saw that Sherlock was no longer on the bed next to her, but showering in the open view shower. He was slender, not exactly muscular but not exactly lean either. She left the bed quietly until she was standing a few feet away from him. He continued to scrub away at the sand and filth covering his body.<p>

"Privacy, Miss Adler?" He simply asked, continuing with the task.

"As if you would know what privacy was," she said, "being a detective and all." She stepped into the spray of the shower, removing the scrub from his hands. She moved behind him and started scrubbing away at his back. "Relax, Mr. Holmes," she said, with a coy smile, "the fact we're sharing a room to begin with leaves little for privacy. "

"But there is a bed and I expected you to remain in it," he sad irritably.

"Oh? Is that a demand?" When she finished cleaning him from the back, she stepped around to the front and started washing him there. He continued to look down at her and she locked her eyes with his. "I'm surprised that you're not shy, being a virgin and all."

He gave a pointed look of annoyance. "I'm surprised that you haven't left yet."

"It's the least I can do for you," she said, lifting his arms and scrubbing them. "If you're waiting for me to try something, or if you _think_ I am _thinking_ about trying something, you will be disappointed." When she was done cleaning his arms, she handed the scrub back to him. She turned around, waiting for him to get the hint. Slowly, she felt the scrub washing over her back. She closed her eyes, relishing in the texture of the rough cloth.

The days she spent without a shower, without any human contact felt like months to her. Being a captive was dreadful and more than that, she had no idea how much of her freedom she took for granted. At least now she had someone, for the moment.

She pushed back her hair. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

He took the scrub and dragged it along the back of her neck. "Yes," he said, "for an hour."

"An hour isn't enough," she said, "you needed the sleep. I can only wonder how long you were awake when getting here. Did you sleep at all the last couple of days?"

"Sleep is of little convenience when I'm in the middle of a case," he said.

She frowned. "This is a case?"

"You are still my client," he said, "I still am restricted to give you protection."

_Oh,_ she thought_. _"I see." When he had finished cleaning her back, she plucked the scrub from his hands and cleaned the front. She could tell it took him slightly by surprise that she was the one who will be taking care of her front. After his admitting of treating her as a _case_, it was clear that he honestly did not come for any other reason but that.

She left him to don her clothes that were already reeking of body odor from the week. When she had finished changing, he had changed back into the clothes she saw him in when he rescued her. She continued to sit on the bed, staring out the open window as the morning began to start.

"I expected you to be gone," she said, "you know, leaving me to figure out what to do… but, you're still here."

"Yes," he said, "as I said before, my brother, Miss Adler, believes—at this moment—you are dead. And because of your recent _near death_ experience, he'll be expecting a body this time."

"I don't think I can perform the same trick twice," she said, "it only works once."

"No," he said, "of course not. This time, we're going to make sure you're dead."


End file.
